Pure as the Driven Snow
by Just Silver
Summary: I run, you give chase. You are the hunter and I'm the prey. Or am I? Draco Malfoy gets more than he bargains for when charged to recruit someone for the Dark Lord.
1. Prologue

A/N: This fic needed to be written in one incarnation or another.  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm not making money off them.  
  
Warnings:  
  
I'm not quite sure what to call this fic. It might be slash. It might be nothing. It might be NC-17. It might be PG-13. Just be prepared.  
  
***  
  
I'm not a virgin anymore.  
  
Just thought you should know.  
  
Really, do I look that innocent?  
  
I shouldn't ask questions I already know the answer to.  
  
Of course I do.  
  
I'm innocuous, sweet, harmless, and so very much like clay that begs for the imprint of strong, sure hands.  
  
That's why Draco Malfoy and his party have taken an interest in me.  
  
I have an amazing storehouse of knowledge in my head.  
  
I am unloved enough that I should be easy to recruit.  
  
I am too gentle to be a threat if I should turn on them.  
  
I am the perfect little victim.  
  
Let me tell you something.  
  
Come closer now.  
  
I don't want you to miss this.  
  
Neville Longbottom is no one's fucking victim.  
  
***  
  
The first two lines are taken from Poe's song 'I'm not a Virgin Anymore.' That song has provided much of the spirit of this fic. Whether or not I'll continue this is up for debate. Any takers?  
  
Love,  
  
j. silver 


	2. A beginning

A/N: Feedback is good!  
  
Thank you Red Joker, Hp Mystery, Rehanna, MiniMe, and Foxglove.  
  
***  
  
*Sigh* I suppose it would be best to start at the beginning. Or as near to the beginning of this portion of my life as I can get. Because if we were to start at the true beginning, our story would be more painful than it has to be. But I digress.  
  
Christmas holidays. Gran had been nagging me to cut my hair. I shrugged. I didn't mean to be deliberately disobedient, but I couldn't muster the energy to be concerned about my hair. I liked to see it fall into my eyes. It's strawberry blond, like my mother's. It reminds me of her and how she used to smell like champagne and strawberries. I remember her voice and how cool her hands were against my forehead, but I can't remember her face. I can't remember how it looked when she was happy and her mind was complete. It bothers me as much as her face does now, when she smiles that empty smile. She knows me and she knows that I bring her the fruits she loved so much, but she doesn't know that I'm her son. It used to break my heart, but a heart can only be broken so many times before it's completely unsalvageable.  
  
Anyway, Gran had been nagging me about my hair. I looked at her coldly. "Trevor died," I said. She looked slightly abashed. I had loved that toad beyond reason. It's stupid I know, but Algie had given it to me. I liked my great uncle Algie, even if the bastard had dropped me out of a window.  
  
"Neville, I know you loved that toad, but a toad is no reason to let yourself…" she trailed off, surveying me. My hair had grown, as I've mentioned, and I had lost weight, despite the fact that I was eating voraciously. It leant a fragile light to my already delicate features.  
  
I laughed at her softly. "Gran, I'm okay. I promise that when the family comes over, I will be the sweet little cherub you know and love, but let me moody for a little while, please?"  
  
She smiled and kissed me.  
  
"Fine. Teenagers. I am going to buy a new hat. Try not to fall further into disarray while I'm gone."  
  
"I promise." She grabbed her purse and put on her stern face, letting me know the tender moment had passed.  
  
"Bryce called on you this morning. I told him you were asleep." I didn't respond and she disapparated on the spot.  
  
Bryce is hard for me to explain. He's a squib, but he makes up for it in so many other ways, that it really doesn't mater. He's always been there: neighbor, friend, and brother. Gran loves him almost as much as I do. She calls him 'a nice boy'. She has no idea how nice Bryce can be, especially when …No. I'm not going there.  
  
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," I called over my shoulder, much too lazy to actually get up and answer it myself. The door opened immediately and Bryce entered, grinning from ear to ear. I went to greet him. He took in my appearance immediately and I was aware of what a contrast I must form in comparison to his neatly clipped and parted brown hair and his impossibly preppy clothing. I was almost ashamed of my shaggy hair and horribly oversized sweatshirt and the fact that I didn't have any pants on.  
  
"Hello, angel," he said warmly. And that's why I love Bryce. When everyone else would call me scraggly and unkempt, he compares me to creatures of heaven.  
  
He threw his lithe from on the sofa, completely at home. "How long has Gran gone for?"  
  
"A new hat is at least three hours."  
  
"Didn't she just buy a new hat?"  
  
" Can't remember. She always buys the same hat," I replied, snuggling up to him. He parted my hair, laughing.  
  
"I wondered how long it would be before you made a smart arsed remark." I didn't answer, opting instead to bury my face in his chest. I felt his smile disappear and the room seemed colder.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked.  
  
"Trevor died." His body went rigid. "I went to visit my parents yesterday." His arms wrapped around me gently.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And they're still insane. My mother smiles with complete docility and such trust and I think to myself 'I could end it for her. I could wrap hands around my throat and I could end it for her and she'd still smile at me with those empty brown eyes.' And my father is no better. He still gets edgy when he's separated from her and he keeps looking for something that the doctors tell him doesn't exist and he looks like he's just been struck and he cries. He cries and she comforts him with that stupid smile!" My throat was tight with tears that I refused to give into. I can't cry. I may act it sometimes, but I am not pathetic.  
  
"Hush, angel," Bryce crooned. "You don't have to be strong for me."  
  
I kissed him, hard. He was surprised, but recovered beautifully and accepted my insistent tongue. I went to work on the buttons of his shirt. He did nothing. Bryce is taller and stronger than I. I am always the tiny kid with the baby-round face, but when we are together, I am the clear aggressor and he accepts his fate. Heh. Sometimes, he even enjoys it.  
  
Finally his torso was bare to my cold, nimble fingers. He was always so warm. He is warmth, penetrating my bones and my heart. Sometimes I think about crawling inside him and seeing if I can steal some of his warmth. He'd probably let me. His hands pulled the sweatshirt over my head, making a bigger mess out of my hair. He discarded it somewhere and ran his hands down my torso, searing me. His eyes became glassy and he pulled me down in a hungry kiss. I love making him want me. My fingers scrambled to undo his belt buckle, my hands shaking so badly that every one of my attempts failed. I scratched him in frustration. He laughed, undoing the buckle for me.  
  
"Patience, love," he said. I thrust my hips back against his, showing him what I thought of his patience. He moaned, arching his back. He hastened to remove his pants. It was my turn to laugh. I traced a path down his torso with butterfly kisses, sliding my tongue into his navel. He hissed and pulled me up for a long, slow kiss.  
  
That's how Gran found us- lip-locked and seminude on her favorite piece of furniture.  
  
***  
  
An attempted beginning. How was it? Answer truthfully and if it sucks, I'll do it over.  
  
Love,  
  
J. Silver 


End file.
